


Bound by Threads, Bound to You

by Atlanta_Black



Series: Show me where the lines begin to blur [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Death as a character, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Past Lives, Temporary Character Death, Tom is an angry bean, fate as a character, foreshadowing done right this time, gonna add shit in so you all have to reread it, gotta keep you on your toes, so the author can get her ass in gear and write the sequal, still technically a, the revision we've all been waiting on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21449971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: One. Hari Potter grows up with loving parents and siblings and still it feels as if the weight of the world lies upon his shoulders.Two. Tom Riddle grows up with his father, surrounded by wealth and yet still he feels the need to be better, better, better.Three. Fate is growing tired of giving out second chances....The revised version ofThe Threads that Bind Usnow with more detail and better prose!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: Show me where the lines begin to blur [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1290329
Comments: 21
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHT EVERYONE! So I've been putting this off because I'm a procrastinator butttttt I accidentally wrote the first part of the sequel and so here we are. Turns out, revising/editing is way easier when you know where the story is going. 
> 
> If I can get myself to focus I might be able to revise the entire thing over the weekend. Maybe.....
> 
> Anyways, I've added some things, taken away some things. Re-worded some other things. I'm leaving the original version up because i dunno maybe one of the lines I took away was your favorite. Also I don't want to lose the nice comments and bookmarks and it was the first fic I ever finished and I'm proud of it. 
> 
> Without further ado, I present the first chapter of the newer, better Bound by Threads, Bound to You

At times it seems as if his life is destined to be a train wreck. As if it’s going to be nothing but one long string of decisions that leads to the biggest train wreck to ever be witnessed by mankind. He has a happy life, a loving family and amazing friends. This doesn’t stop him from waking up in the middle of the night, heart pounding and screams ringing in his ears.

Most days, he’s happy. Some days he wants to scream from the irrational pain clutching at his heart.

_Born to those who have thrice defied him… born as the seventh month dies._

The Fates have had their eye on Harry’s thread since the moment he began existing. It’s a dangerous thing to piss off a being that exists solely to chart your life.

_round and round the wheel he goes…_

Harry has always had a talent for pissing off powerful beings.

  


* * *

  


_July 1991_

When Hari was eleven, James and Lily packed up their house and moved. Marigold and Sara had both been a little too young to clearly remember the tiny town that they lived in. Hari however, remembers the sprawling fields that stretched on for ages at the edge of the town. Remembers the graveyard at the edge and the statue of a man with a sword on his back in the middle of the town square. Remembers the way his skin used to crawl when they would pass by the house at the edge of the town. The way it’s vacant windows used to stare at him as if to say _you know me._

He also vividly remembers the way that a lot of the townspeople had turned up their nose at his dad. Remembers the way they had tried to convince his mum to leave them. Remembers the ladies who would stop his mum in the store and talk to her in hushed tones. The way they looked at him with something approaching contempt. He also remembers the day someone had tried to kidnap Sara out of her stroller, saying that it was for his mum's own good and that she didn't need anything else tying her to _that man._

When it had happened Hari hadn't really understood the implications of what the lady had screamed at his mum, but the older he got the angrier that memory made him. He’s not really sure why they lived in Godric’s Hollow. He’s never asked and with every year that passes, it seems as if his chance to ask slips away.

  


* * *

  


They move into a huge, airy townhouse in London, only a few miles from where Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus live. Which is exciting for all of them. For a while they’d only gotten to see Sirius and Remus once or twice a year.

The first few years, life in the city is fine. Marigold thrives in the big city, in the fresh air. Comes home ecstatic about going to a school where there are other children who look like her. Sara was only four when they moved and adapted the easiest out of all of them.

Mum and Dad still look stressed and throw worried looks over their shoulders when they're out but it's calmer. Their family feels more at peace.

And then, as usual, when everything seems at its most peaceful, things began to go downhill.

  


* * *

  


_September 1991_

Hari's first day of school seems as if it will pass by uneventfully. He's sort of made friends with a boy named Dean who sits next to him in most of their classes, and there's a quiet, clumsy boy who Hari spent a good bit of time chatting with at lunch. Maybe it was stupid of him to expect to have a life changing experience on the first day of school but there was this feeling of anticipation hovering in the air. This feeling that something was coming or beginning.

Near the end of lunch, Hari's getting ready to head back to class when he spots a girl sitting outside, a book nearly the size of her head in her lap and a group of about four kids forming a sort of semi-circle around her. The looks on their faces are anything but kind and Hari feels a shiver of anger run down his spine. Feels the anticipation creep higher almost as if the air itself is waiting for something.

Later, Hari won't be able to really remember exactly what was said, but he'll always remember the look of surprise on her face when he stands up for her. He almost thinks that it works, that the bullies will leave. Then one of the kids, a blonde with an obnoxiously pointed face, makes a comment about trash seeking out trash, and Hari punches him before he even really realizes his fist is flying. 

He gets suspended for two days, and mum and dad both look disappointed and sad. But on the way into the house dad ruffles his hair and mum gives him an extra long hug before sending him to his room.

They don’t approve of fighting but they both know what it’s like to have someone insult an integral part of your being. His mom hugs him and when she smiles her eyes look sad. Look as if she’s felt the weight of the world and it has left her aching. It will be a very long time until he realizes why.

  


* * *

  


The girls name is Hermione. This is her second year at Croton Primary School and from what Hari has gathered she has no friends. This is thanks mostly to the same group of kids that had been bullying her when Hari had gotten involved. It makes Hari's blood boil. He's only gotten to talk to Hermione for a little bit but she seems like a nice person. Later, when he's talking with his parents about why he'd gotten into the fight, it’s almost as if he can see them age just a little bit. He watches the lines around his dad's eyes tighten and feels his mom squeeze his hand just a little tighter. This is the moment that he feels the first shreds of bitterness start to form.

_There will never be a world where injustice settles well on Hari’s shoulders, never be a world where he can stand back and not get involved in the injustice that is life._

  


* * *

  


The year passes by and as much as things change, one thing always remains the same. Harri makes other friends. Goes to football games with Dean and to the ocean with Neville. He takes his sisters to the library. Goes on long, winding hikes with his dad. Goes on adventures downtown with his mum. Yet, for all the pieces of his life that everyone else fills, no one makes him feel as complete as Hermione. When she’s around, the constant itching at the back of his brain quiets down just a bit. 

She's wicked smart and occasionally overbearing but she sticks by his side no matter what. No matter how many times they insult her. No matter how many times they insult him. She already got bullied a lot and being friends with him seems to have made it worse. She's too smart, too ugly, hair too bushy, teeth too big, skin too dark and Hari ends up getting into more fights that year than he really should.

Hermione tries her best to get him to stop defending her. Tries her best to get him to just chill out, sit back, and focus on his studies. The anger is bone deep though. Is so deep it feels like a festering wound that he _needs_ to get rid of.

"Hari, Hari, listen, they're not important. Their words don't matter." she mutters to him one day, the two of them huddled behind the bleachers at lunch.

Class starts in less than twenty minutes but he's scowling at the ground, Malfoy's words still ringing in his ears.

_It's a pity you don't look like your mother, Potter. A pity that you always hang out around trash. A pity that you --_

"Words always matter," he says and watches the way she eyes him, sadness still lingering in the creases around her eyes.

"You're right. Words matter, but theirs don't." She takes his hand and squeezes it once. "I'm going to be great Hari. I'm going to make myself so great they have no choice but to respect me."

He watches the way the sun lingers on her skin and thinks that he believes her.

"I'll be right there beside you, Hermione. Watching your back like always."

_Those words reek of prophecy. Of forever and eternity and I will always be by your side. Nothing will ever tear me from you. Nothing will ever separate us. The words feel like an oath._

Hermione stares at him, eyes wide, the moment stretching out but the bell rings, the moment breaks. She smiles and they hurry off to class. Later, he’ll think back on this and say it’s the moment he knew they’d be friends _forever._

  


* * *

  


_October 1991_

The first time Hermione meets Sirius she stares for a very long moment before turning to Hari with a betrayed face.

“Hari, when you said, ‘hey, come meet my godfather. He’s really cool, you’ll really like him.’ Did you forget to mention something?”

He sends her a blank look, “Um… He can be kind of berk when he first meets people?”

She sighs, running a hand over her face. “You didn’t think to mention that he’s Sirius Black. The same Sirius Black who made headlines for months when inherited his family's estate. The same estate that is home to a library that houses some of the rarest books in England?”

Sirius barks out a laugh at the same time as Hari, and really, he hadn’t even thought about that, but he should have known she would.

“Tell me, sweetheart, how many times did you try to think of a way to sneak into that library?” Sirius asks, still chuckling.

Hermione bares her teeth at him, a mimicry of a smile. “Who says I haven’t already found a way to sneak in there?” 

And Sirius, for just a minute, looks like he believes her. “There’s no way. The security system on that house is insane. How would a little thing like you ever have gotten in?”

“I’ll guess you’ll never know. But next time you’re near the library tell me if _The Codex of Leicester_ is still there?” She wanders off toward the kitchen, leaving Sirius to stare after her, a perplexed frown on his face.

“I know she’s lying. I do, but I still have the urge to go look for that book.”

Hari laughs before following Hermione into the kitchen.

Later, when Remus arrives, Hermione sees the book he’s got with him and immediately latches onto his side, all smiles and intelligence. Remus loves her instantly.

Sirius never does get Remus to understand why he pretends to be scared of her, and Hermione takes great pleasure in laughing at Sirius.

_Later, this is one of the memories that Hari looks back on when he feels as if he’s going to break apart from grief._

_And there are oh so many moments to come. More than anyone ever could have imagined._

  


* * *

  


_July 1994_

Before you know it, Hari's almost thirteen. Hermione’s almost fourteen and it seems as if everything will stay calm. As if life has looked at them all and said _okay, just this once, you deserve a break._

_Like fate had looked at this child and said just this once you get to keep everyone you love. Just this once I won't rip them away from you._

Two weeks before Hari's thirteenth birthday they get a call. His dad picks up the phone and all the color drains out of his face. The phone slips out of his hand, the noise of the phone hitting the floor loud in the silence that’s swept over the room. His mum picks up the phone and she holds it for less than a minute before she goes sickly white and tears start streaming down her face.

_Sirius is dead._

Mari screams, cries, refuses to come out of her room --

Sara goes quiet, still too young to truly understand the idea of death, but she understands that Siri is gone and he’s never coming back. She goes quiet and it is weeks before she talks again.

Dad sits on a chair, blank faced, eyes dry, and Hari wonders if this is what it's like to watch someone die even while they’re still alive.

It's hours before James musters the will to get up, to go try and comfort Sara and Mari. Days before he can figure out how to breathe without his heart feeling as if it will fall out of his chest.

Lily has been outside of Mari's door since she slammed it shut, crying and trying to reason with her - trying to keep an eye on Sara. In all the chaos and all the grief, Hari just quietly leaves.

Looks around the house now saturated with grief, looks at his family shattering apart, and goes to the only person that will understand the rage building in his chest.

He shows up at Hermione's house, face blank, eyes red. She takes one look at him and tells her parents they're going for a walk. The Granger’s worried eyes follow them until they’re out of sight. 

They end up at an empty park, the sun nearly gone and Hari _breaks--_

Hermione sits quietly on a swing and watches him scream and cry and rage and when he finally sags onto a bench she moves to sit beside him. She holds his hand and they talk quietly about all the great times they had had with Sirius. All the fun times. All the ways he had loved Remus. The way he had never given a thought to anyone's skin color. 

Hari cries. Hermione grips his hand so tight her fingers go numb.

They sit there for what feels like hours, _and that could have been the end_

_Hari could have started to heal, but fate, fate, fate_

_Fate has always had her claws sunk deeply under his skin, this life is no exception. There will never be an exception._

Two months later they learn that the drunk driver, who struck and killed Sirius while he was on his motorcycle, has gotten off free. The bitterness and anger in his stomach grows tighter, and he watches something hard settle in the back of Hermione's eyes.

_Injustice has never settled well in their stomachs and this time it's so much more personal. In this life they could have been great. Could have brought the world to its knees but fate, fate, fate…_

Remus spends more time on their couch than in his house and there are days where Hari is scared the grief is going to take Remus away from them too. Is scared he’s going to keep losing people that he loves. Wakes up sobbing, heart pounding, convinced that he’s going to get up and his family is going to be _gone._

There are months where his dad sleeps on the couch next to Remus more than he sleeps in his own bed.

Months where his mom’s smiles never reach her eyes.

_In this life, James has to learn to live without Sirius. Always one dies, always one destined to live with the grief of losing a brother._

  


* * *

  


_September 1993_

Life moves on.

And then, in between one breath and the next, they're back in school and expected to sit down, shut up, and listen.

Hari is beginning to get really tired of listening. Is getting really tired of blindly following. He can see the same discontent echoed back in Hermione’s eyes and the anger coils tighter, the sadness climbs higher.

  


* * *

  


Hari gets home one day, in the middle of September, and finds out his mum's expecting -

_A life for a death,_ he hears her whisper when she thinks no one is listening.

There are days where Hari wishes he could trade this new life back for Siri.

Wishes they had Siri, not this child growing in his mum's belly.

  


* * *

  


Deodan Sirius Potter is born February 23rd and Hari _loves_ him-

Fucking aches with loving him with still being burdened down by grief.

_There are days where Mari looks at him, eyes still angry and he thinks she sees everything he's been trying to push down since Siri died. But the moment always passes._

  


* * *

  


Life moves on.

Fate lounges on her gilded chair, seething as she watches Hari’s thread move along.

Death leans against a gravestone and watches the Potter family grieve.

And as much things change, some things always stay the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't a lot to change in this chapter. I was largely happy with everything in it. Fixed some grammar and added in more detail. Tried to make it flow a bit smoother. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

The memories always start out with darkness and anger and too small bedrooms.

The memories always start off with him, sitting in the middle of the room, looking at the walls and asking --

_why why why, why did you leave, why am i alone, why do they hate me_

It's years until he grasps the answer to his question. Years until he realizes exactly how wrong everything he went through is.

t happens like this, Tom Riddle grows up_angry_and ready to take back what he feels the world owes him. This doesn’t change. How could this ever change?

Grows up always feeling like the world is just a little bit wrong. Grows up with a distant father and a dead mother and sometimes it feels as if the injustice of the world is threatening to crush him.

  


* * *

  


_September 30th, 2000 | 5:45am._

Hari is working a morning shift at the coffee shop and is in the middle of stocking the pastry case when tall, dark and handsome walks in.

“Good morning, welcome to Busy Bees!” he calls out. The guy doesn’t even bother lifting his head and Hari feels his mood sour slightly. It was going to be one of those days then. “What can I get for you today?” he asks, keeping his tone as pleasant as possible considering the guy still hasn’t looked up from where he’s furiously typing away on his cellphone. 

And really, furious is the only way to describe it. His fingers are flying across the keypad so fast Hari doesn’t know how he’s managing to accurately type anything. He’s hitting the screen so hard with his fingers Hari’s almost surprised he hasn’t broken the screen.

“Quad, hazelnut latte, no foam, extra hot,” the guys snaps out, still not looking up from his phone. Hari can feel his eye twitch, he hates people like this. They act like they’ve never heard of having some fucking manners.

“Brilliant, can I get you anything else?”

“Clearly not since I didn’t ask for anything else,” the guys snaps and Hari’s mouth falls open.

There’s a long moment where Hari says nothing and the guy continues to type on his phone, but finally, the silence seems to register and the guy looks up at Hari for the first time since entering the building.

Hari swears he feels his lungs cave in from the force of this guys eyes. The guy has dark, dark, nearly black eyes and Hari is caught, is captivated --

Is being stared at like he’s a fucking insect that needs to be squashed under this guys shoe and doesn’t that just make his fucking blood burn.

“Well, are you going to give me my total are or you going to continue staring at me like the dimwit you clearly are?” the guy says, drawing his words out as if he thinks Hari’s an idiot.

Hari tilts his head, considers the guy for a few moments before deciding that no, it is too early for this much bullshit. He doesn’t care how pretty the guy is, it was too early to be giving out free passes for being an asshole.

“I don't think I will. You can leave,” he says, proud of the way his voice stays completely calm despite the way his lungs have seized up at the way the guys eyes have gone even darker with anger.

“Oh, I see,” he says, voice quiet, “I think I’d like to speak with your manager in that case.” 

“I am the manager,” Hari says and feels a surge of satisfaction at the aggravation that passes over the guys face.

“Brilliant, well then I would like to speak to the owner.”

Hari smirks, “She’s over in the corner, good luck.” he says, waving a hand towards the back corner of the store that customers usually overlook when they come in.

There’s a long moment where they both just stare at the corner and Hari almost feels bad for doing this to her but he was too tired to deal with this bullshit.

Hermione however, never seemed fazed by the bullshit that customers throw at her daily.

He really expects the guy to just give up and leave as soon as he spots her. She’s a sight to see, especially this early in the morning. Braids piled into a messy bun on top of her head, a highlighter tucked behind her ear and a pen being used to furiously jot down notes. There are two stacks of books on the ground next to her, another stack on the table, a book bag that is clearly ready to burst, a coffee to her left and a bagel buried under another pile of papers. She has a furious scowl on her face as she absorbs whatever she’s reading and he wonders what obscure law has her pissed off this time. 

At this point most customers would have just left. Really, he’s had customers ask to speak to the owner and leave as soon as they see Hermione. The Rude Guy however, just takes Hermione in for a moment before huffing out an aggravated sigh and heading over towards her table.

Hari really wants to listen to their conversation, especially since the guy is complaining about him, but before he can do more than throw a curious glance their way another customer walks in. Then the rest of the staff starts showing up and the morning rush begins. After that it’s far too busy to try and do anything other than just keep up with the cups steadily coming towards him. He barely even remembers that the rude guy had come in at all. 

It’s four hours later, Hari is in the middle of talking with Ms.Diggory, when he glances over at Hermione’s corner and realizes Rude Guy is_still there_ Something in his brain short circuits at the sight of his best friend and one of the rudest customers he’s gotten so far, sitting together, both furiously arguing about something and Hari is --

“Excuse me!” he jerks his head back around only to almost run directly into a coffee cup with his face.

“Yes, sir. How can I help you?” this was apparently the wrong thing to ask since next thing he knows the man is screaming obscenities at him. Screaming about how the coffee tastes like gutter water and how the service here is awful and how he didn’t know what he had expected when he’d walked in here, but it wasn’t to be served this absolute_trash and--_

Hari grits his teeth and smiles through it. He takes it back, this was now the worst customer he had ever served. Ginny rolls her eyes ever time he says that, says that he thinks that about every rude customer. He’s sure though, that this one deserves a cup of hot coffee to the face.

It’s right as he’s watching the man pull his hand back to throw the coffee across the counter that it happens. Almost as if in slow motion he watches the man pull his hand back to throw the coffee and then watches long, pale fingers wrap around the man’s wrist effectively halting his arm and speech all at once.

Hari follows the fingers to a pale hand. To a crisp, neatly pressed dress shirt. To broad shoulders. To a face that is at once both beautiful and terrifying. The Rude Guy from earlier this morning, who had just been at the table with Hermione, is standing behind the angry old man, eyes hard and face so, so cold. Hari had thought the guy had been angry this morning when Hari had refused service but that was merely an annoyance compared to the rage tightening his features now.

The old man turns in a rage, but draws up short at the sight of the guy standing behind him. Draws short at the sight of a well dressed man, who looks as if he is going to call down the wrath of the heavens on this man.

“So, tell me, Crabbe, is this what you get up to in your free time?” the guy asks, voice cold. He still hasn’t let go of the guys wrist.

Hari’s eyes widen, of course they know each other. Of course the two problem customers of the day would know each other.

“Riddle! Sir, of course not. I always conduct myself in a fashion suitable for a man of my position, but the service here today was so atrocious and the boy that served it was too busy staring at some girl who doesn’t look fit to be out in public that he made my drink wrong and --” Crabbe continues to ramble on for a few more moments, his panicked rambling very loud in the suddenly very quiet store.

Every customer and employee has stopped to watch the spectacle going on in the normally peaceful coffee shop. And, the longer the guy rambles the colder Riddle’s face gets, the harder his eyes become, and from where Hari is standing, he can see how tightly Riddle is still gripping Crabbe’s wrist. It looks_painful_.

“Tell me something, Crabbe,” Riddle finally cuts his rambling off, clearly having heard enough, “The college girl that the barista was supposedly staring at, did it happen to be _her_?” he motions behind him to Hermione, who has been leaning against the condiment bar, quietly watching, face assessing and Hari feels his skin grow cold,_that fucking bastard._

_Being judged for the color of their skin was nothing new but it still stung, still made his skin tighten with rage._

“Yes! See, I mentioned not looking fit to be in public and you knew exactly who I had been speaking about! She’s --” but whatever he was going to say is cut off as Riddle very purposely reaches up to grab him by the jaw. 

“Listen to me very carefully, Crabbe. That girl, that you seem to have such a low opinion of, is the owner of this establishment. She’s already at least five times smarter than you. That barista, the one you were about to throw scalding hot coffee all over, is her brother and the first person to show any type of spine when talking to me in far too long.” he enunciates each word clearly and slowly. His voice is still so,_so_cold.

Crabbe’s face has gone a sickly, pasty white color and Hari is standing there shell shocked. Who the hell is this guy that he can speak to people like this and no one in the store has said a word. He shouldn’t be surprised really, the entire time Crabbe had been yelling at him no one had said a thing. Sure there where plenty of customers staring at him in disgust but no one stepped forward to say anything. So, even if this Riddle guy didn’t seem to be someone important, he really doubted anyone would step into say anything. He does want to know how the hell their morning interaction had turned into something positive.

“That’s enough.” Hermione’s finally cuts in, voice firm.

Riddle glances over his shoulder at her, face disinterested before glancing at Hari. Hari doesn’t know what his own face looks like but whatever Riddle sees on his face causes him to shove Crabbe away from him without another glance. 

“Of course Miss Granger, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Crabbe, don’t bother showing up to the office tomorrow,” and then he walks out the front door without another look at any of them. Crabbe follows seconds later, a fearful anxious look still on his face. As he rushes past the counter Hari notices blood trailing down his wrist from where Riddle had dug his nails in.

Hari and Hermione lock eyes and god, his face must be something else because her eyebrows immediately crease into a worried frown.

“Luna, Ginny can you two handle the store till Pansy gets here?” she calls and Hari glances over his shoulder to see Ginny and Luna both nodding, eyes still wide from the scene they had all witnessed.

“Hari, let’s go.” she demands, walking over to gather up her stuff.

Hari has never been so happy to get out of the coffee shop. Has never left the shop before with his chest feeling quite this heavy, with his skin so tight.

_If this is the way he feels after just being around Riddle when angry, he can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to have the weight of those eyes fully upon him. The feeling reminds him of the way his skin used to crawl, all those years ago, when he would stand in front of the house on the edge of the town. The way his skin would tighten around his bones as if to say, you do not belong in this body. You do not belong in this scene._

  


* * *

  


They don’t say a word until they get to Hari’s house. Lily pokes her head out of the kitchen briefly, a worried frown on her face since they’re never home early but they wave her off with a smile and head up to Hari’s room.

Hari closes his door, immediately flings himself onto his bed, smashes his face into the blankets and lets out a muffled scream.

“Hari, is that really necessary?” Hermione asks, voice dry.

He sits up with a groan, drags a hand down his face. She’s sitting at his desk, arms crossed on the back of the chair, and just watching him, that same worried frown on her face.

“We’ve been open for a year. An entire year and not once have I ever felt so utterly embarrassed while on the clock.” he mutters. Embarrassed isn’t the exact emotion but it’s the closest one he can use to explain. Doesn’t know how else to explain the feeling still lingering under his skin.

“Hari, “ she begins, voice careful. “Do you know who that was?”

“Who? Tall, dark and utterly rude? The Riddle guy? Why would I know who he is?”

Hermione sighs, mouth twisting down and levels him with an unimpressed stare. “That’s _Tom Riddle_.”

Hari stares at her blankly. “Okay?” he drawls the question out, still not sure why he’s supposed to care.

She throws her hand up, frustration clearing away some of the worry still lingering on her face. “Do you ever watch the news? Ever read the paper?"

“I do! Sometimes... when the headlines look interesting,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling defensive. Who the fuck was this guy that he had Hermione so flustered.

“Tom Riddle is the CEO of Riddle Pharmaceuticals. Only the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the country. His grandfather was absolutely brilliant and helped develop so many new medications that there were rumors he was stealing ideas from other people. His father focused more on the business aspect of the company but still graduated with highest honors from Cambridge and wrote several papers about different aspects of the industry. One of those papers was published in the New England Journal of Medicine and talked about --” 

“Alright! Hermione, that’s enough!” he cuts her off, knowing that if she actually starts talking about the article she’ll never stop. “I get it. He has money, his family is beyond wealthy. What’s so special about him though?”

“He inherited the company earlier this year.” she hesitates, something wary in the expression on her face. “He inherited the company and spent five months under investigation because people think he murdered his father.” 

Hari’s mouth falls open. “I’m sorry, he what now. Why the fuck was he in our coffee shop? Actually, why the fuck did you spend all morning talking to him then?” Hari’s skin feels cold again. He thinks back to how he had spoken to Riddle that morning and feels a chill slide down his spine. 

“He’s brilliant, Hari. And he was cleared of all charges so…” she trails off with a shrug.

Hari resists the urge to go shake her by the shoulders. “Hermione, “ he takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Just because someone is brilliant is not a good reason to hang out around potentially dangerous men.” 

Hermione flushes and before they can speak about it anymore Lily is calling them down to dinner. 

Weeks pass and eventually Hari pushes Riddle out of his mind. Pushes away thoughts of dark eyes and long fingers and blood dripping down wrists.

_But sometimes, sometimes he still wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath. Dark, dark eyes lingering behind his eyelids and the image of wrists that look far too much like his own with long fingers wrapped around them and blood, dripping dripping dripping …_

  


* * *

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only added like 200-ish words onto this chapter. Fixed a shit ton of weird grammar and weird paragraphs that shouldn't have been paragraphs????? Also wow I really love run-on sentences. 
> 
> Enjoy!!!!!! <3

He wishes he could say that the dreams stopped. That he stopped waking up chest heaving, Riddle’s name lingering on his tongue. The dreams don’t stop. Two months later and he is still dreaming of eyes so vivid he could drown in them. Is still dreaming of the way his lungs felt as though they were caving in from the pure want that he still can’t seem to shake. 

He wishes, wishes,  _ wishes  _ for something that he can barely even put into words. Wishes that he had some explanation for the need coursing through him after one meeting. Wishes he understood why he feels so inexplicably drawn to this guy. Wishes he knew why it once again felt like his skin was going to crawl off of his body. As if the force of his need was going to destroy him.

_ Are we talking about Hari or Tom? Does it matter? Their souls have always been so closely intertwined that they can’t help but crave the other. Can’t help but want, want, want…  _

_ And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. _

A prophecy from another life, but it rings true no matter where they are. It lingers in their blood and every life, every life they’re drawn back towards each other. Towards their downfall, their destruction. This life, this life was supposed to be theirs.

⬷

_ November 15th, 2000 | 4:00am. _

Wednesday morning starts with Hari and Hermione shivering on their way to the coffee shop. The temperatures have dropped even lower in the past week and Hari is greatly regretting every decision that led up to him being outside in the cold at four in the bloody morning. 

He slogs through the next hour in a cold, exhausted haze. Too tired to think about anything other than putting one foot in front of the other. Exams are in a month, the store has been getting steadily busier, and he is ready to collapse. So it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when 10 minutes after unlocking the doors, Tom Riddle walks in. It shouldn’t have. Of course he would show back up when Hari is at his most tired. 

Yet, Hari still finds himself coming to a dead stop to stare at the other man. 

Tom Riddle had not come back to Busy Bees since the scene he had caused nearly two months ago and Hari had honestly thought he would never see the man again. Had hoped that the dreams would stop and eventually he would just forget about the other man all together. 

Riddle isn’t on his phone this time, in fact, his eyes have been fixed on Hari since he walked in the door. Fixed on Hari with an unnerving intensity and Hari can feel his palms sweating. He hopes that this day does not go anything like the last one. 

“Good morning! What can I get for you today?” he asks cheerfully, making the split second idea to see if he can get away with playing dumb. 

Riddle’s eyes narrow and Hari holds back a sigh. Clearly his life wasn’t going to be that easy today. 

“Tell me, do you forget all your customers so easily or just the ones you don’t like,  _ Hari _ ?” 

Hari breathes in. Breathes out. Reminds himself that he is not allowed to throw things at customers. He is not allowed to tell customers to please fuck off and keep his name out of their mouth. 

“I never forget a customer,” he finally says, voice flat. “What can I get for you?” 

“If you never forget a customer then why didn’t you greet me by name?” 

“It slipped my mind. What would you like to drink?” he’s not sure he can get his voice any flatter than it currently is. 

There’s a long pause where Tom just tilts his head and stares at Hari, eyes assessing, and Hari feels as if he’s about to crawl out of his skin just to get away from this entire uncomfortable encounter. Although really, that’s not much different from how he’s felt the past few months. 

“You want to know what I want?” 

“Yes, I’d like to know what to ring you up for.” Is he being dense on purpose? Did he come back to just get under Hari’s skin?

“I want you to go on a date with me.” 

Hari looks down at the computer screen, prepared to ring in a coffee, but then the words register and his head snaps back up so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t sprain something. 

“I’m sorry, you want what now? I must have misheard you.” And he knows the words come out too fast, knows his voice is too high, knows his hands are shaking but all he can do is stand there and stare in disbelief. 

Tom smirks. “I said, I want you to go on a date with me.” 

Hari gapes, looks around the store wildly. He half expects cameras to pop out and someone to scream that he’s being punked but nothing happens. Nothing happens except that Tom is still standing there,  _ still _ staring. 

Riddle asked him out. 

Tom Riddle asked him out. 

Tom “Mr. probably murdered his father” Riddle asked him out and ---

_(and there’s a moment where Hari hesitates and Tom’s eyes light up with triumph and Hari’s breath is stuck in his throat and he aches aches aches ---)_

Hari says no. 

“Absolutely not.” his voice is shaking, but he said no. He can feel the edge of the counter biting into his hands and he can’t seem to figure out how to breath properly but he said no. 

There are two bright red splotches high on Tom’s cheeks, his eyes gone dark with anger and Hari is  _ glad _ he said no. 

Is glad he will never be subject to that anger. Is happy, is ---

(is  _ still aching, is wishing he knew what Tom’s eyes looked like when he had Hari pinned against a wall, is wishing ---) _

The moment ends. 

Tom doesn’t say anything else. Whether that is because he is too angry to speak or because he has nothing to say, Hari doesn’t know, but he turns and stalks out the door without another word. 

_ The image of dark angry eyes stays imprinted on the back of Hari’s eyelids for days and he dreams of kissing and his back against a wall and pain and blood dripping, always blood dripping. Sometimes he opens his eyes and instead of dark eyes he sees red. Sees eyes like crimson, like blood staring at him with glee. He always looks down to find his hands covered in blood and to the sound of his name whispered over and over again. Hari, Hari, Hari…  _

⬷

Hari doesn’t tell anyone about the encounter. Hermione had been in the back when it had happened and he knew if he mentioned it she’d get this worried crease between her eyebrows again. He didn’t want to do that to her. Not again. 

The first encounter encounter had left him feeling out of sorts for days and Hermione had spent weeks speaking to him as if he was going to break. He hates making her worry and he hates that he can’t figure out why this guy has such a profound effect on him and he hates, hates how much he wants to find out what his skin feels like. Wants to find out what his lips taste like and what that hair would feel like sliding through his fingers and how it would feel to be completely taken apart ---

_ Every life, every life there’s always a turning point and every life they manage to miss each other. Fate runs a thread between her fingers, plucks at the strands. She is growing tired of these two always finding a way to evade her grasp. Is growing tired of being defied.  _

⬷

_ December 1st, 2000 | 2:00pm. _

Life goes on. 

Hari does his best to put Tom out of his mind, and with the holiday season in full swing and finals steadily creeping closer that ends up being easier than expected. 

He’s in the process of rummaging through his bag for his gloves. as he leaves the science lab one Friday, when he full body runs into someone. He would have fallen and busted his ass if not for a strong hand snapping out to grab him by his arm and tug him upright. 

The entire ordeal takes about thirty seconds and ends with Hari gripping the guy’s coat sleeve and the stranger still holding him by his arm. Hari is so close he can smell the guys cologne, a heavy forrest type smell that causes Hari’s mind to flash back to Godric’s hollow. To the graveyard and the house with it’s dark windows. 

“Well, isn’t this quite the coincidence?” Tom’s voice washes over Hari like ice water. 

He jerks back, slower than he would have liked, and takes the time to straighten his clothes. He tries to will his hands into not shaking and then finally glances up, head still partially bowed. Tom is staring directly at him. There’s an amused glint lighting up his eyes but it’s overshadowed by the burning in them as they trace over Hari and Hari feels as if he is  _ shattering, splintering apart, as if his heart is going to beat it’s way out of his chest. _

“What are you doing here?” he demands, voice harsh. He doesn’t have time for this. Doesn’t need another interaction with someone who already won’t get out of his head. 

“No need to be so hostile,” Tom says, voice smooth, “I’m merely here on business with Lucius.” He motions behind him and sure enough, there stands Lucius Malfoy in all his pretentious glory. 

The sight of Lucius Malfoy in all his snobby finery suddenly brings Hari’s attention to what Tom is wearing, and Hari can feel his cheeks start to burn. His hoodie and sweatpants are a stark contrast to the expensive looking suit that Tom is wearing. The suit that is clinging to every single contour of his body, and now that Hari has noticed how bloody gorgeous Tom looks, he can’t seem to look away. 

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t stalking me.” he finally mutters, hating the way Tom’s eyes flare up with amusement again. 

Malfoy scoffs and Hari turns on him so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. 

“So, tell me Malfoy.” he snarls, “How’s that son of yours doing?” and Malfoy’s face goes from mocking to furious faster than Hari can blink.

“Do try to not bait the help, it’s incredibly tiring to find more.” Tom drawls from behind him. 

Malfoy says nothing, although his glare is still burning a hole into Hari’s head. Hari grins, a wild, feral thing and if looks could kill Malfoy would be dead. 

He turns back to Tom, clearly Malfoy wasn’t going to step out of line with his boss standing right there. Which is a pity because Harry has a lot of things he wants to say to Malfoy. A lot of accusations he wants to fling.  Tom is still staring at him, eyes glinting in a way that makes Hari nervous and for just a moment, just a moment he contemplates saying yes. 

_ For just a moment he sees Tom, standing in the cafe, asking him on a date, eyes dark and Hari aches aches aches…  _

Hari turns and walks away. Doesn’t bother saying goodbye, just turns and leaves, and Tom’s laughter rings loudly behind him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed some lines where the wording was strange. _ side eyes past Atlanta_  
Added some lines where I have a better understanding of the character. Fleshed out a couple parts.  
Overall though this chapter is mostly the same! Just a bit smoother and with zero plot holes!
> 
> Enjoy! <3

_ Sometimes, he dreams of cupboards and too small beds and the ever present smell of parchment… _

Tom Riddle grows up in a world that feels wrong, grows up with this bone deep feeling that he was meant for more than this and at night he dreams…

_ Dreams of a snake winding around his feet. Of people bowing before him and always, always of a boy with eyes that are just a little too green, a little too bright. _

Tom Riddle dreams, fate watches with strings clutched between their hands. Somewhere, in another life, a boy with eyes the color of death stands fearlessly before the most feared Dark Lord of the age. 

⬷

_ December 1st, 2000 | 2:20pm _

Tom watches Hari walk away. Watches him try to pretend that he’s not running, even as he tries to be subtle about watching Tom in the windows he passes. 

Tom watches and feels something curiously like disappointment settle in his chest. Maybe disappointment or rage or a curious mix of the two. Hari Potter would be _ his _ and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. 

There was nothing anyone could do to stop him really, and sometimes that left a discontented feeling swimming through his chest. As if something was missing. As if he almost wanted someone to be there, fighting him every step of the way. 

But Tom was used to having irrational feelings follow him throughout life. He had mastered them and succeeded regardless. 

_ Had mastered them until a boy with green, green eyes that shone just a little too bright entered his life. _

He spares the fleeing boy one more glance before turning on his heel and walking off, leaving Lucius to scramble and catch up. He gets so little entertainment these days, that baiting Lucius was fast becoming an art form. 

But still, there was something odd going on with him, with Hari; with the coffee shop that held far too many familiar faces, considering it only held people he had never met.

There was something going on, and Tom was beginning to feel restless from the lack of answers. Was beginning to feel that Hari was the key to it all. 

_ ...somewhere in the distance Fate’s laugh rings through his head like a half forgotten memory and Tom breaks out into a cold sweat for absolutely no reason at all… _

⬷

_ December 5th, 2000 | 3:30pm. _

Hari has taken to looking over his shoulder wherever he goes. An action that has garnered more than a few worried looks from his co-workers. Hermione stares at him with heavy eyes and a worried frown every time he does it. He feels awful for worrying her. For worrying everyone really. 

Tom Riddle however, had a worrying habit of showing up when Hari least wanted him too. Which was always. Regardless the sentiment was the same. Tom Riddle had an uncanny talent for appearing right when he was least wanted. 

So, it should come as no surprise that when Hari finally lets his guard down, he shows up like a dark foreboding omen. 

Hari’s laying in the park, enjoying the end of exams and the peace of just laying in the middle of the grass, the sun on his face. There is nothing but the hum of the city in the background and he really just wants to stay frozen in this moment forever. 

His life could never be so easy though. Could never be so calm. How foolish of him to think otherwise. 

Just as he feels himself drifting off a voice breaks the peaceful haze that has settled over him. 

“I must have been very good this year to have been graced with your presence twice in one week.” a voice drawls from above him, the smirk evident before Hari even opens his eyes. 

Hari jerks up, squinting, and for just a moment he feels his heart stop. Something in him freezes, quakes and he feels something he can barely comprehend whisper through his mind. 

_ There is only power and those too weak too see it…..Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now? _

And then the moment passes and it’s just Tom, silhouetted by the sun and staring down at him. Hari flops back down onto the grass with a disgruntled huff. 

“Can I help you, Riddle?” he almost closes his eyes again, but that feeling of discontent is still lingering at the base of his spine. He finds he can’t quite bring himself to be that vulnerable. 

Tom arches an eyebrow and then proceeds to slowly drag his eyes down Hari’s body - from the bottom of Hari’s worn out trainers to the hair curling around his ears. Hari flushes, immediately sitting up and trying to put some space between them. 

“Oh, Hari, I believe you already know exactly how you can help me.” Tom says, his voice dark. 

And there’s something in his eyes that has Hari flushing even harder, the red surely showing even on his skin. 

“If that’s all you want, you can leave then. The answer is still _ no _.” and if his voice shakes on the last word, well neither of them seem inclined to mention it. Even if Tom’s eyes do narrow for a second. 

Hari thinks that Tom might actually leave, might actually turn and walk away. But Tom considers him for a second and then with more grace than Hari has ever managed, drops to the ground and leans back on his arms, eyes closed. 

Hari considers him for a moment, but Tom really seems content to just lay in the grass with Hari and enjoy the sun. So, Hari keeps the peace and says nothing. 

_ And if at some point they end up close enough that their arms touch well, neither of them are going to mention it. _

⬷

Imagine this. 

The sun setting and a world bathed in orange and gold. There are two boys, always the same two boys. Mirror images of each other but different in all the ways that matter. 

One with eyes that are too green, too bright. One with eyes like ice, like snow and the mountain caps. One with a moral compass pointing east, pointed towards the sun. One with a compass so bent it can barely find it in itself to point towards the moon. 

Picture this. 

_Two boys and in every life, one always dies. _

⬷

_ December 8th, 2000 | 5:30am _

Hari wakes up Friday with that sense of foreboding still lingering in his stomach. He feels as if he’s spent the past few days walking on eggshells, waiting for everything to blow up in his face. 

He drags himself downstairs expecting everyone else to still be asleep, but his mum is sitting at the kitchen table, absently reading. 

She glances up at where he’s stopped in the doorway and smiles softly at him. He realizes suddenly that he’s barely seen his parents the last few weeks. 

“What are you doing up so early?” he asks, going over to give her a hug. He knows he’s technically a grown adult but he’s not sure he’ll ever stop loving his mum’s hugs. She always seems to put all of herself into every single one. As if she’s savoring every one that he gives. 

“Odan had a nightmare and I was trying to get him back to sleep.” she says, runs a hand through his hair as she pulls back. 

He grimaces, “He’s been having a lot of nightmares lately hasn’t he?” 

“Mostly because he keeps watching horror movies that he shouldn’t.” She huffs, the exasperation clear in her voice and Hari smiles. 

“How are Mari and Sara?” he asks. He knows he lives in the same house as them, but it feels like he never sees anyone. 

“They’re good, we’re all good. Mari’s still debating on which Uni she wants to go to, and Sara is still terrorizing the school.” 

There’s a long pause as Hari makes himself a sandwich. He can feel her eyes on him, heavy with something that she wants to say. 

“How have you been, Hari?” there’s something else hidden under those words, “I feel like I see Hermione more than I see you.” 

“Ah, well I’ve been spending a lot of time at the shop. Christmas time really has people craving coffee.” he gives an awkward laugh, not liking the way she’s staring at him. That feeling of dread is still curled up in the bottom of his stomach and he just wants this day to be over. 

“Hermione mentioned that you met Tom Riddle a few months ago.” 

The knife hits the counter with a clatter, the noise loud in the quiet of the early morning. Hari stares at her, eyes wide and hand still posed over his sandwich. 

What does she want him to say to that? What on earth could she possibly want him to say? 

She’s still staring at him, lips pressed tightly together. Her eyes are so like his own and all he can see in them is worry. She lets out a sigh after a few moments. After it becomes clear that Hari has nothing to say. 

“I just worry, deerheart.” she says, standing and coming over to where he’s leaning heavily against the counter. 

Something cold trickles down his spine. She hasn’t called him that in years. Stopped using it when he was nine and he had asked her why she called him that. She had stared at him with distant eyes and shaking hands. Had never answered his question and never used that nickname again. He had been to scared to ask again. 

“I’ll be fine, mum.” he says, willing his voice not to shake and she smiles at him, a small sad thing that does nothing to reassure him. 

“I know you will. My brave, brave boy.” she presses a kiss to his cheek, “Now go on before you’re late to work.” 

“I can’t be late, mum.” He lets out a shaky laugh, “I own the place.” and then he’s out the door.

_ ...but he could have sworn as he left that she whispered something else at his back… _

_ The boy-who-lived no longer exists _

_ But his troubles just keep following you don’t they? _

⬷

He arrives at the shop right as Luna is unlocking the doors and he shoots her an apologetic grin.

“Sorry I’m late! I got distracted talking to my mum.” 

Luna smiles back, eyes lingering on the air around him. “Your mother loves you very much. It’s nice that you spend time talking with her.”

Her tone is as light as ever but something about the way that she says it has Hari stopping to stare at her. Something almost ominous lingering under her words. She says nothing else, moving to the back to start setting up the store and he shakes himself. It wouldn’t do him any good to start seeing ominous signs in everything that people do and say. 

Peak flies by, and it isn’t until he’s sitting in the back with Luna that he allows himself to really think about what his mom whispered as he left. He doesn’t think he was meant to hear that last sentence but it had felt ominous. 

“There are a lot of wrackspurts around your head today, Hari.” Luna’s soft voice jerks him out of his thoughts and he smiles. 

“You’ve been saying that to me a lot lately, Luna.” he says, trying not to falter under her gaze. He’s been friends with her six years, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how piercing her gaze is. 

“Do you believe in past lives, Hari?” she asks softly, eyes tracing the air around him again. 

He jerks, nearly spilling the coffee he’s holding. Startled green eyes meet pale blue, and Hari feels that sense of foreboding begin to creep up his throat again. He wants to say no, wants to tell her to stop being ridiculous. But this is Luna, and there is something oddly serious in her gaze. He still feels as if this feeling is going to crawl its way up his throat and choke him. 

“Do you?” he finally manages to choke out. 

“I believe in a lot of things, Hari Potter. I’m not sure you want to hear all of them.” 

“Is there a point to this conversation, Luna?” 

She smiles, a bright cold thing that is out of place on her face. “In this life, you are just Hari. Don’t waste that.”

“Just Hari. As opposed to what?” he asks, throat dry, regretting the question as soon as he asks. 

She blinks at him, looking baffled that he doesn’t already know the answer. 

“You’re just Hari instead of Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived.” 

The last thing he sees before blacking out is Luna’s wide eyes and her hands, reaching out to catch him as he falls. 

_ There’s a diary drowning in ink _

_ A diadem hanging from a statue _

_ A tower bathed in red _

_ A boy with red red red hair _

_ And a skeletally thin man, with no nose and blood red eyes _

_ A man who stares at him, sadistic glee lighting up his eyes _

_ A man who smiles at him as if he is the answer to all the things yet to come _

_ All the things that have already passed _

_ “Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived, come to die.” _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm pretty sure this was already the longest chapter and I've so far added the most words to this one than any of the others. I say so far, because I feel like I'm going to end up adding a lot to the last chapter. 
> 
> I fleshed out a lot in this one. Got lost reading through the final battle and honestly, I think I'll be forever mad that the movie didn't give us the badass scene of Neville having the hat literally burning on his head. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this very much improved chapter! <3

_ Sometimes Hari dreams…  _

_ Dreams of a boy with red hair and too many freckles. A boy who always stands by his side, always stares at him with kind eyes and it feels as if he belongs there. As if it should be impossible for him to be anywhere other than by Hari’s side. As if the idea of him leaving is unfathomable.  _

_ “Why is it when something happens it is always you three?” asks a lady, voice stern and her voice whispering through his dream.  _

_ “Believe me, Professor, I’ve been asking myself the same question for six years.” the boy answers.  _

_ Hari turns to look at him but gets momentarily distracted by Hermione standing on his left. She’s staring at the boy, face lit up in a way he’s never seen before. Eyes soft and shoulders relaxed. It’s her but not her. A version of her that he’s not sure he’s ever met.  _

_ Always you three.  _

_ Where did they go wrong? Why in this world was it only Hari and Hermione?  _

_ The dream morphs suddenly into a burning room and Hari flying through it. Fear licking at his heels and arms clutched tight around his waist.  _

_ An island in the middle of a dark lake. A basin standing in the middle of it and hands reaching, reaching, reaching…  _

_ A balding man, surrounded by potions and pictures of students. Eyes fixed on Hari with a strange type of fear that he doesn’t understand.  _

_ “A horcrux is an object…” _

_ And then it all fades until nothing is left but Hari, standing in a blindingly white train station. Hand outstretched and feet posed on the edge of the ledge. Hand outstretched and that gnawing ache that he’s lost something.  _

_ It all fades until there is nothing left. Nothing, nothing, nothing-- _

_ Nothing but him.  _

⬷

Hari wakes with a start and for a moment all he can remember is being in that train station. Being surrounded by nothing but blinding whiteness as far as the eye could see. Remembers the phantom ache, as if something important has been torn away. 

The moment passes. He looks around, not sure where he is, only to realize that he’s in his room. Hermione is at his desk, scribbling away at something and he can faintly hear his mum’s voice drifting up the stairs. 

“Hermione?” he croaks out, voice hoarse. 

Hermione whips around so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t fall straight off the chair. 

“Hari! You’re awake!” she says sounding relieved. She’s on her feet, heading for his bed before he can blink again. 

The relief in her voice makes his stomach hurt. He always hates making her worry. Hates making any of his family worry. Feels as if he’s wronged them in someway he can’t comprehend when he does. 

“What happened?” he asks, taking the glass of water that she holds out. 

“You were at work, Luna called us saying that you had blacked out.” she mutters, wringing her hands in front of her. “She wouldn’t tell us what you were doing before you blacked out though.” he can hear suspicion in her voice as she frowns down out at him. 

_ The boy who lived _

He feels his blood turn to ice. Feels as if someone has taken his heart in their hand and squeezed. As if his body is no longer his. He finds himself remembering the conversation that he had been having with Luna, the feeling of foreboding that had crept down his spine. Remembers the way he had felt as if he was going to choke to death on the dread. 

_ Why is it always you three? _

He remembers bits and pieces of his dreams as well. Dreams that had left his stomach swimming with unease and a growing sense of loss, of wrongness. Of the space on his other side that still feels empty, feels cold. 

“Hari?” Hermione asks, voice hesitant, hands hovering over him. 

He stares at her, a thousand words crawling up his throat and he feels as if he’s going to fucking choke to death on the words he cannot fathom how to say. 

“I…” he cuts off, hands coming up to grip his hair. 

Hermione stares at him, eyes wide and scared and he  _ hates hates hates _ that he put that look there. 

“Do you believe in past lives?” He blurts out, that dream still circling round and round in his head. 

The color drains from her face so quickly that he knows he’s hit some kind of nerve. He feels as if he’s on the precipice and he’s one wrong  _ right _ move from falling. 

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at him, eyes wide and hands shaking. He reaches out, very gently intertwines their fingers and gives her a hand a soft squeeze. 

She swallows, eyes flickering away from his for a second. 

“Sometimes…” she starts, falters, voice breaking over the word. “Sometimes, when I look at Pansy all I can hear is her voice sneering the word mudblood at me.” there’s something sad in her voice and Hari watches her quietly. “The first time I met you, I heard almost an echo of myself saying  _ ‘you told us once years ago that it wasn’t too late to turn back. We’re here till the end, Harry’ _ but I sounded older….”she hesitates, licks her lips. “I sounded like I do now actually.”

She stops talking, eyes distant and he wonders what other moments she’s thinking of. 

“Do you ever feel like we’re missing someone?” He asks quietly and watches her face flicker with some emotion he can’t place. 

_ Something like longing, like resignation  _

“Yeah, sometimes I wake up and it feels like my chest is going to cave in from loss.” She says and he closes his eyes. 

_ Feels the pressure build, the edge of the platform under his feet and knows that there will be no turning back from what is coming  _

⬷

_ December 9th, 2000 | 10:00am _

Riddle Inc. looms high above Hari’s head. A towering building of dark glass and a never ending stream of rich looking business men going in and out of the doors. 

Hari, in comparison, doesn’t look like he should be within five feet of this building. A feeling enforced by the looks being thrown at him. 

He steels himself, draws a deep breath and marches through the front doors. Head held high, shoulders thrown back. He knows,  _ the same way he knows his mother's voice _ , that Tom will want to see him. He just has to convince everyone else of that. 

He feels even more out of place the farther into the building he gets. Everyone in the building is painfully white and he stands out like a sore thumb. He wouldn’t normally notice something like that but the looks that are being thrown his way by most of the people in the building are nothing short of malicious. He doesn’t think it’ll ever stop making his blood burn to realize how much hatred there still is in the world. 

He keeps walking, straight to the front desk, where he’s surprised to note that he recognizes the girl sitting there. Astoria Greengrass. A year above him in school and the daughter of one of the main benefactors of the school. 

She’s been staring at him since he walked in, eyebrows as high as they’ll go, hands on her hip. Hari sighs, he doesn’t have any fond memories of her. He can’t imagine that she has any of him. 

“Potter. What are you doing here?” she bites the words out as if it physically pains her to speak to him. 

“I need to speak to Riddle.” he mutters, willing his face to not heat up. Wills his shoulders to stay thrown back, wills his spine to stay straight. He will  _ not _ bend in front of these people. 

He hadn’t thought her eyebrows could go any higher but she goes and proves him wrong. Her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hair line before she lets out a sharp laugh that echoes through the building. A laugh that draws eyes from everyone in the room. 

“You must be joking.” she says, voice bright with humour. “Even if you weren’t, well,  _ you _ . You don’t just walk in and expect to speak with Riddle. There are protocols to follow.”

He narrowly resists the urge to grind his teeth. Of course there are protocols and he knows that if he were anyone else he’d never make it past the front desk. He also knows that Tom will be delighted, in that strange way of his, to know that Hari is here. 

“Trust me, Astoria. Call him. Tell him Hari Potter is here. He’ll want to see me.” She narrows her eyes and he watches her eyes flicker to the guards. “Astoria, trust me. You don’t want him to find out I was here and that you turned me away.” 

She hesitates for another long second but he’s gotten under her skin now. She doesn’t want to risk whatever would happen if she became the focus of Tom’s displeasure. 

And god, doesn’t that just make something in Hari wither. Because he has no idea what would happen if Tom did find out. He’d taken a wild guess that it wouldn’t be pleasant but he really has no idea. All he has are these half formed memories, none of which involve Tom, and this feeling that it’s all connected back to him. 

_ For neither can live while the other survives. Fate draws the string tighter around her hand, stares through time with vicious delight. The charade ends soon. _

She picks up the phone and they stand there and stare at each other, until Hari hears the faint sound of Tom’s voice on the other end. 

“Yes sir, I didn’t want to bother you but there’s a boy down here who claims that you will want to see him despite the fact that he doesn’t have an appointment.” she pauses, fingers tightening on the phone. “Hari Potter.” 

He sees the moment when she realizes he was right. Watches the blood drain from her face and her hands start to shake. Watches the way her eyes flicker to him, to the door, to the guards and back again. 

“Right away, sir. We’ll be right up.” she hangs up the phone with a decisive click, despite the almost imperceptible trembling in her hands. 

Hari smiles, cocks his head. “He told you to not let me leave, didn’t he?” and she swallows but nods anyways. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of changing my mind.” 

Hari doesn’t remember most of the ride up to Tom’s office. Only remembers scoffing to himself, because of course his office is as high up as it can go. 

He keeps thinking about dark eyes and hands brushing and a voice in the back of his mind whispering  _ Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now? _

He’s missing something, feels as if he can taste it on his tongue. This too sweet, sticky, tacky flavor. Coating his mouth, his throat, until he wants to fucking choke from it. As if someone has taken something holy and stuffed it down his throat. Or taken something divine and buried it under his skin. 

The elevator opens and he follows Astoria down the hallway to a set of white, double doors. 

He feels almost like he’s walking in a dream. The whiteness of the doors drawing his mind back to the train station. To the neverending blankness. To that hollow feeling in his chest. 

He takes a breath. 

The door opens. 

⬷

Their eyes meet and the moment hangs, as if the air itself has forgotten how to exist in the space between them. 

Their eyes meet and Hari forgets how to breathe. Forgets how to do anything other than be devoured by Tom’s eyes. 

“Hari Potter.” Tom says his name slowly, delicately; like he’s savoring it. Hari’s heart trips, skips, lodges itself somewhere near the bottom of his ribcage. “I didn’t think I would ever see you here. Not of your own volition.” 

“I had a question for you.” he says, eyes still locked on Tom’s. His voice strong despite the fact that it feels as if his brain has turned off. 

Tom’s lips quirk, “Really. And this question was so important that you had to come all the way up here?” 

Hari breathes in, licks his lips and  _ fucking burns _ as Tom’s eyes trace the motion. 

“You’re the final piece.” he says and watches the small quirk disappear from Tom’s lips. 

Tom considers him for a long moment, eyes dark. Hari stares back, lets his eyes linger on the creases of his shirt and the way it clings. On the hair just barely falling in his face. On the soft thump of his fingers tapping out an unfamiliar pattern on the desk. 

“Come here.” Tom finally says, motioning to the space next to him. 

Hari hesitates for a second before slowly walking around the desk. Tom turns in his chair to face him, legs spread wide and eyes still intent on his face. 

“Closer.” he murmurs and Hari hesitates. This is the coffeeshop all over again but this also feels inevitable. Feels like, how could this end in any other way? 

The last step forward feels monumental. Feels like the planets slotting into place at the beginning of creation. This close he can feel the heat radiating from Tom’s body. Tom’s eyes light up with triumph. With a savage delight that makes Hari want to turn and run. Forget this entire moment but he stays. Stays rooted to the floor and Tom’s hand have found their way to his hips and his mouth is dry and his brain feels like cotton and he is fucking  _ disintegrating.  _

“The final piece to what?” Tom asks, hands tight on his hips. Tight enough to bruise. 

“Do you believe in past lives?” he murmurs, lips numb. Thoughts still caught on the idea of bruises marking his skin. Of being claimed, of  _ blood dripping, dripping, dripping--  _

Tom’s eyes flash with something he can’t identify and he doesn’t know who moves first but one of them is rising and one of them is falling and they’re twisting, lips parted, hands reaching and it’s just _ heat heat heat _ . Is warmth and slickness and the press of warm hands against his face. Is the way Tom drags a hand down his side, back to his hip and his grip is still tight. Is still hard enough to bruise. He drags a hand through Tom’s hair in return, grips tight and pulls. Relishes in the way Tom snarls into his mouth and bites his lip.

He likes to think Tom moved first, seeing how as he’s now backed up against the desk. Tom is pressed up against him, so close that he can feel every inch of his body against his own and his hands are on Tom’s shoulders and there’s something crawling up his spine, something whispering through his brain. 

“Hari Potter.” Tom whispers, tearing his lips from Hari’s only to run them down his neck, leaving trails of heat behind. Hari shivers, hands dropping to Tom’s waist. “ _ The boy who lived, come to die _ .” he murmurs the words into the hollow of Hari’s throat and his breath stutters, heart falters…

_ He’s surrounded by people in black, a women’s maniacal laughter rings through the clearing and he burns, burns, burns… _

_ Burns with hatred. Burns with love. Burns with righteousness.  _

He freezes, meets Tom’s eyes and in the space between one breath and the next he  _ shatters _ . 

Tom grins - a savage cold thing - and Hari screams as he remembers  _ everything. _

He rocks forward, head clenched between his hands and Tom, Tom fucking Riddle, holds him through it. 

⬷

_ There’s a boy with red, red, red hair. You’ve got dirt on your nose, didn’t you know. _

_ There’s a boy with red hair and large hands. He stares at Harry with kind eyes and hands always reaching. “You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I’ll make my move and she’ll take me -- that leaves you free to checkmate the king…”  _

_ “You’ve got dirt on your nose, didn’t you know.” snaps Hermione, eleven years old and eyes glinting with anger. She turns to stare at Harry and smiles. “You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We’ve had time, haven’t we?”  _

_ A boy with round cheeks and bright eyes. The same boy with a hat on his head, set aflame. “I’ll join you when hell freezes over, Dumbledore’s Army!” _

_ _

_ Ginny with her shining hair and blazing smile. "It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?" she asks, voice wry, eyes sad.  _

_ Hogwarts burning to the ground and always always always…  _

_ Tom Riddle smiling at him in the chamber of secrets. Eyes lit up with vicious delight and Harry’s wand clutched tight in his hand. Tall and proud and so, so sure of himself. So sure that his destiny was his.  _

_ Voldemort in the graveyard. Red eyes already burning with hatred in a body that had only just been crafted moments before. “Come out, Harry… come out and play…” _

_ Voldemort in the ministry, eyes still blazing with hatred and fingers reaching, creeping. Magic twisting through Harry’s as if it belonged there but it did not, it did not.  _

_ Voldemort standing in the great hall and falling to the ground. Standing there, panic scratching through his chest and still, still so angry. Still so ready for Harry to die.  _

_ Ron and Hermione always by his side. Tom Riddle, Voldemort, a monster by the same name, always the enemy.  _

⬷

He breathes in. 

_ He doesn’t know why he’s never met Ron.  _

Breathes out. 

_ He kissed Tom Riddle. _

Breathes in. 

_ His parents are alive. _

Breathes out.

_ Tom Riddle has his arms around him still. _

Breathes in. 

_ Sirius is still still fucking dead. _

Breathes out. 

_ There is still something whispering through the back of his mind that he can’t quite grasp and he had thought Tom Riddle was the answer to it all but he is only the beginning.  _

⬷

Tom is still holding him. Hands idly tracing patterns on his back, breath ruffling the top of his hair. There’s no need to ask whether or not he remembers. Not with the last thing he said still ringing in Hari’s ears. 

Tom goes still as he straightens up, hands halting their movement and Hari could swear he almost stops breathing. 

He meets Tom’s eyes and shifts, rolls his shoulders. There is something electric lingering in the air, something lingering underneath his skin. 

Having these memories should have destroyed this chemistry between them but if anything it’s only made it stronger. 

“You look so fucking beautiful with tears staining your face.”Tom whispers fiercely, one hand coming up to rest on his hair, and Hari swallows around the want climbing up his throat. 

“Did you think that when I was tied to the gravestone in fourth year?” he asks, voice hoarse from screaming. 

Tom tilts his head, considering the question far more seriously than Hari had expected. 

“I think I was too lost in my bloodlust then to appreciate the tears on your face or the rope against your skin.” he seems to consider it for another moment before making a face, “You were also fourteen and I was at least three times your age. Disregarding my lack of sanity we weren’t really each others types then.” 

“Is that remorse I hear, Riddle?” he asks mockingly. 

Tom snarls “What’s with the last name, Hari. Decide you don’t want this after all?” he asks, pulling his Hari’s head back viciously and the moan that leaves Hari’s mouth is completely involuntary. 

Tom smirks at him but it’s brittle and telling and Hari eyes him, unease still lingering in his bones. 

“How much do you remember?” he aks, voice rough. Does his best to ignore Tom’s darkening eyes. 

“I remember you killing me.” Hari flinches despite himself. “I remember my wand turning against me and my own curse hitting me and I remember…” he pauses, licks his lips and eyes Hari curiously. 

“And you remember?” he prompts, voice quiet. The whispering in the back of his brain has grown louder. 

“I remember every life after that. I remember being an orphan, a businessman, a grocery clerk, a robber, a mafia boss, a sailor, a pirate, a police officer, a politician.” 

There’s a long pause, Hari trying to digest the information and then in a hushed voice, as if Tom is scared to even say the phrase out loud. 

“And you, Hari Potter. In every life, I remember  _ you _ . I grow up and at eleven inevitably I end up with all these memories fighting for dominance but in all of them you’re there, eyes too fucking green to be human and in every life, in every fucking life..” he pauses, breathes in, breath whistling through his teeth. “In every life you somehow end up being my destruction. Whether that’s loss of life or loss of my career. It’s always you. But not this life, in this life I only remembered a few days ago.“

Tom’s eyes have been burning holes through him this entire time and Hari feels the whispering in the back of his mind reach an almost deafening level. 

“How many times have I remembered you?” he asks, feeling as if he’s underwater, fingers digging into Tom’s hips hard enough to bruise. 

“Never.” he says the word with such finality that Hari is left momentarily teetering on the edge of the precipice and then for one moment, one blinding moment he sees…

⬷

_ It’s never been a cliff, never been a fall. He’s standing at the train tracks in that blinding white train station, feet half off the platform and there’s a shadowy figure behind him with a voice like eternity.  _

_ “Choose well, Harry Potter. We gave you what you asked for. Now it is time to give me back what is mine.”  _

_ The figure that is him but not him grins, a bright savage thing that he doesn’t recognize.  _

_ “You do not hold as much power over me as you think. I have been their master for far too many lifetimes now to bother being scared of you. I made no promises and I shall give you back yours when I feel like it and never before.” _

_ The figure lets out a sound that is at once anger and the end of time and the Harry that is him but not him laughs and laughs and laughs.  _

⬷

He jerks back to himself with a choked gasp and Tom is staring at him with something approaching reverence, something that makes his blood burn and his heart stop and he is falling, collapsing, burning like a dying star-

“You’ve never remembered before, Hari Potter. Tell me, what is different now? Tell me why your eyes just turned gold.” Tom’s voice is frenzied, one hand gripping Hari’s hair tight enough that it aches and one hand having crept up to his throat. Fingers lightly gripping, eyes burning with a desperate light that Hari recognizes all too well. 

“And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…” he whispers the words and watches Tom’s mouth thin into an angry line. “Tell me, Tom. In this world, this life. Do you have any of that magic left inside of you?” 

Tom bares his teeth, anger rippling over his features but he gives a short jerk of his head to indicate no and Hari laughs. A small, soft sound that causes Tom’s hand to clench around his neck. 

“You want to see a magic trick?” he whispers, pushes himself even farther into Tom’s space. 

He moves one of his hands in between their bodies and summons up the power that he can now feel resting in the back of his mind. 

_ “Watch.” _ and in between one second and the next the elder wand lays in his hand and Tom jerks his head up to look at him with blazing eyes. 


	6. Chapter 6

_ He keeps opening his eyes to white. To blank space and train tracks that go on forever. To a train that never comes. He finds himself absently wondering sometimes if he had ever really had a choice. Wonders if all those years ago when Dumbledore had stood here on the platform next to him and told him he could move on, if that had been true at all.  _

_ “I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to… let’s say… board a train.” _

_ “And where would it take me?” he had asked, fragile hope still blooming in his heart.  _

_ “On,” _

_ Would it have really taken him on? Or had his destiny been decided long before that. Been decided from the moment he had been conceived in his mum’s belly. Perhaps even farther back, to when Lily and James had first kissed and stared at each other, love blazing from their souls.  _

_ Had he ever truly had a choice? Had that even really been Dumbledore or just another trick designed to keep him on the path that they had already chosen for him?  _

_ He doesn’t know and he finds that not knowing burns even more than the actual injustice of it all.  _

_ The train is not coming. Not for him. Not ever. The hallows have burned into his soul for far too long for the train to ever come for him.  _

⬷

Hari Potter is born on July 31st into a world of peace and love. This is important, so very important. He’s born into a world where his mother smiles at his birth and his father laughs without darkness coating the sound. He’s born into love and peace. 

But war is written into the creases of Hari’s soul. He has scars that will never fade, has holes that can never be filled. And for every hole that is filled another absence appears to take its place. Fate only grows angrier with every life. Only grows more determined to make him regret the deal he has struck. 

Growing up in any life with a sliver of someone else’s soul twisted through your own is enough to give anyone scars. When it’s your first life it leaves scars that will never go away. Some days his chest feels hollow and there’s a spot on his forehead that aches with the memory of pain. 

Hari Potter grows up in peace but his soul was born into war and he’s not sure he’ll ever know what it’s like to live without constantly feeling like he’s missing something. Without constantly feeling as if there is something hunting him, breathing down his neck. 

He is born into peace but he was forged through war.

⬷

Magic is a rush he had not been expecting. He’s lived twenty years as a Muggle in a world that has no magic and now he’s here in Tom Riddle’s lap, with magic running through him like a drug. 

Nothing could have prepared him for this, and somewhere in the back of his mind he can feel Hermione’s worry and Ron’s furrowed gaze but they are a lifetime away while he’s here. He’s here, in a world with friends that seem like mere echoes. Hermione laughs without darkness dimming the sound and Ron is nowhere to be found. 

In the days that follow, Tom Riddle is the only one who seems real. Maybe that’s where it all begins to go wrong. Or maybe it began to go wrong a long, long time ago. In a life that no longer exists but still existed all the same. In a life where Harry Potter looked around at the destruction of his world, and said  _ no.  _

⬷

He doesn’t dream. He spends the night in Tom Riddle’s bed with magic swirling through his veins, and when he wakes up the only thing he can remember is sitting in that train station, sitting and staring at nothing but  _ white white white _ as far as he can see. 

He wonders if he’s going mad or if he’s already there. There’s still something missing, still something whispering in the back of his mind. The him that is him but is also someone else entirely. The him that smiles at Death with something dangerous coating the edge. He doesn’t not recognize that part of him.

He looks down at Tom’s face and wishes he had never remembered. Wishes that he had gotten to live out the rest of this life in ignorance, with Tom by his side. Wishes he didn’t have all these memories swirling through his head and tainting everything red. Wishes he had time to find Ron. To explore the softness that lives on this version of Tom Riddle’s face. 

Tom peers up at him, sunlight breaking across his face, and Hari feels something in his chest splinter. He leans into Tom’s kisses and tries to ignore the dread building in his chest. 

_ Hari was never meant to live a happy life. Especially not one with Tom by his side. And doesn’t that just leave something bitter and festering in his chest? Leaves his blood burn with righteousness.  _

⬷

The next few days are a blur. When asked later, he won’t be able to tell you what happened. Won’t be able to tell you anything, except that he knows where he spent those days and who he spent them with. 

The only thing he’ll be able to tell you is that he woke up on Tuesday with no memory of reaching Tuesday. He wakes up to 200 missed texts and calls: most of them are from Hermione but there’s one from his mum. Only one, and it lodges somewhere under his ribcage and makes the dread still building in his stomach quiver. 

_ No matter what you choose, I will always love you. _

_ Please remember that, deerheart.  _

_ I love you. _

He wakes up to his friends’ worry and his mum’s pointed words and he looks around the room he’s in and feels nothing but the magic still swimming through his veins. Feels nothing but resentment for these friends who do not remember, who are only shades of the friends he once had. 

_ There is a reason they always warn you to not do drugs. A reason they try to impress upon you the importance of never even taking that first hit. Perhaps if he had walked away, had looked at the temptation that Tom Riddle presented and said no, perhaps he could have had this life. Could have found meaning in a world that was barely real.  _

He spends Sunday and Monday in Tom Riddle’s bed and all he can remember is a haze of magic, lust, and pleasure. He remembers bare skin and Tom’s voice heavy against his throat. Remembers thinking over and over again:  _ no one will ever complete me like you. _

_ I have held your soul, Tom Riddle.  _

_ Have cradled it in my palm. _

_ Can you feel my _

_ Fingerprints rubbing against the creases of who you are? _

The dread keeps building and Hari reads his mum’s message one last time before turning his phone off and dropping it into the trash. 

⬷

_ “Your time is up Harry Potter.”  _

_ He blinks, finds himself on the edge of the train tracks once again. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have if he’s back here.  _

_ He stands there for a moment, listening to the silence of the place.  _

_ When he turns, Death is seated on the bench. The same bench that he had sat on with Dumbledore all those lifetimes ago. It’s taken on the form of Ron. Ron, somewhere in his thirties. As if, by taking on the form of his best friend, it will soften him but all it does is make him angrier. Makes him think about how he’s never met Ron in this life.  _

_ Wonders how many of his past lives he had spent feeling as if pieces of himself were missing? How many lives he had spent dreaming of red hair and kind eyes.  _

_ “Your time is up.” Death says again, voice reverberating in that strange way that it does.  _

_ “My time is up when I say it is up,” he snarls, fists balled up at his side.  _

_ “Fate grows tired of your insolence.” It tilts Ron’s head, as if it’s trying to convey disapproval but its face remains blank, as if it’s forgotten how to accurately portray the emotion.  _

_ “Fate has fucked me over too many times for me to care about her approval.” he says, fingernails digging into his palms.  _

_ He wonders what would happen if he punched Death. Would fate herself finally appear to him?  _

_ “You made a deal, Harry Potter,” it says, volume increasing. “Eighteen lives with him, and in exchange you would—” _

_ “I know what the deal was.” He snaps. “And you didn’t uphold your end.”  _

_ “You did not say that you wanted to remember.”  _

_ He fucking swears it sounds smug. As if Death is pleased that the fucking powers to be pulled one over him. Ron’s head is still tilted, as if it doesn’t realize that you’re supposed to return your head upright.  _

_ “If I go back now, you’ll regret it.” He says, feeling skin break under his nails. He wonders if he’ll wake up bleeding. Wonders if this rage burning through his blood will destroy him soon.  _

_ “Yet still, you will go back. There is nothing you can do to harm me. You may be my master but even you cannot hurt me.”  _

_ He snarls, baring his teeth. “The friend whose body you’re masquerading in would have told you that it’s never a good idea to tell me what I cannot do.”  _

_ “You will go back.” It repeats again in a voice so heavy, he can feel it against his skin.  _

_ “I will go back.” he agrees, letting out a laugh that echoes through the space they’re in. “I will go back but you will not get what you asked for. I’m rescinding my end of the deal. You will receive nothing from me.”  _

_ Ron disappears and the last thing Harry sees before waking up is Death flashing furiously between all the people Harry has loved.  _

⬷

He wakes up. 

He wakes up and his head feels clear. Feels clearer than it has since Tom walked into the coffee shop that first time. 

It’s all there now in proper order. He remembers everything with crystal clear clarity. Remembers his first life and remembers the after. Remembers the deal he made with Death. The conversation he had with Fate. 

_ Still _ doesn’t remember the eighteen lives in between. 

He turns onto his side and stares at Tom’s sleeping face. It still leaves him in awe that someone so flawed can look so peaceful in their sleep. The moonlight washes over his skin and leaves him looking ethereal. Leaves Hari with his blood burning from the rage still curled up in his ribcage. The rage that he  _ still _ , _ still _ doesn’t get to live this life with Tom. 

He traces a finger down Tom’s cheek, interrupts the moonlight and wishes that he could hoard Tom’s soul inside his own. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Lets the words get lost in the dark corners of the room. “I’m so sorry.” 

He thinks, briefly, about sending one last text to his mum. Thinks of his sisters, who he’ll never get to see again. Thinks of his dad’s laughing eyes. Remus’s tired smile. Thinks of Hermione’s worry and Luna’s all-knowing gaze.

Merlin, he wishes he could keep this life. He wishes that he could find Ron and just  _ live _ this life to its absolute fullest. 

He leans forward and brushes a feather-light kiss on Tom’s lips. Traces his body with his eyes again. “It’s not over,” he says, tracing over the curve of Tom’s cheekbone with his finger. “I will fix this. I promise.” 

He breathes in. Lets the magic flow through him. Breathes out. Opens his eyes to the Elder Wand lying in his hand. 

“I’m so,  _ so _ sorry,” he whispers one last time. Traces the outline of Tom’s face once more before sitting up and taking aim. 

“ _ Avada Kedavra. _ ” 

The sickly green light leaves his wand, and in the split second before it hits he watches Tom’s eyes snap open, pupils blown wide in shock. 

Breath in. Swallow the rage crawling up his throat. Breathe out. Let the tears fall down his cheeks. 

“This life and all the lives past may have been theirs,” he says, voice shaking. “But the next one…the next one is all mine.” 

He interlocks his fingers with Tom’s. The skin is still warm but the life is just  _ gone _ . Hari has to pause to take another deep breath before raising the wand again. 

“ _ Sectumsempra. _ ” He hisses in a shocked breath as it hits. So this is what Malfoy had felt in their sixth year. Merlin, no wonder the bastard had hated him so much. 

He stares up at the ceiling while he waits for it to be over and swears that he can hear Fate giggling in his ear. 

“I’m coming for you,” he says, tries to say. Isn’t sure how much is him really talking and how much is wishful thinking. “How long before the man becomes a god?  _ How long until the Hallows stop belonging to you at all? _ ” 

He dies with Fate’s rage burning his skin. With Death’s eyes burning holes through his soul. 

This is not the end.

⬷

In a place that is neither here nor there and everywhere and nowhere at all, a being with starlight for eyes raises its head in shock. 

“How long?” it says, voice like the ocean, like the vast emptiness of space. “How long can you let a man walk in the hall of gods before it stops being a man at all?” 

In a meadow on a planet that has yet to exist but has been around since the beginning, a being with moonlight for hair stills. 

“Mortals were not made to hold the hallows for this long. How long? How long until it stops being a mortal at all?” 

In the middle of space the stars freeze and the Milky Way flickers. A being with eyes like black holes turns towards Earth. 

“The time of the gods is upon us again. How long? How long until they awake? Until they stop being mortal at all?” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE ARRIVED AT THE END. 
> 
> Or well, the new and improved end!
> 
> You'll all be very happy to know, especially new readers who didn't know where the ending was going, that I've got a summary and some of the sequel written. It will uhh probably be 2020 though before it gets posted because ya girl has like so many other projects going in it's ridiculous. 
> 
> But I am working on it!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the revised version of this story! <3


End file.
